


It's Totally Not a Metaphor

by Sismyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Cowboy Michael Guerin, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 11:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sismyn/pseuds/Sismyn
Summary: Every time Michael wouldn't let anyone else touch his hat, and how Alex subverted that every time.





	It's Totally Not a Metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> asjkhfkjah inspired by [this tumblr post](https://michael-runs-hot-guerin.tumblr.com/post/188380699714/monluna-dreamer-i-need-a-fic-where-everyone) which is recursively linked whoohoo

* * *

"Why black? It's so dark," Isobel said. 

Michael shrugged and adjusted his new hat in her rear view mirror for the seventh time. 

She shot him a glare. "That's distracting, you know. I'm trying to drive. Go on, why black?"

He held in the "_because I'm evil _" he wanted to snap. He'd covered up multiple murders, and sure, it was for the sake of protecting his siblings each time, but this time there were unintended consequences, what people were saying about Rosa, about the Ortechos... He felt sick in every other color. He couldn't even touch the white ones. He didn't know how Max was going to wear one as a uniform.

"I'm secretly a goth," he said finally, pulling the Stetson as far down his forehead as he could.

She snorted as she stopped her car at a red light. "Goth cowboy? You gonna herd cows in the middle of the night or something?"

"By moonlight, on my ebony Arabian, we slowly circle a lonely bull with eyes like limpid tears that shed as he continuously turns to face us head on."

Isobel's laugh was worth everything. "Okay, Tara Gilesbie. Maybe leave the prose to Max. The hat does look good on you, though." She reached back and swiped at him, but he easily leaned out of her reach, holding the Stetson to his head. "Look better on me, though."

"You could have gotten your own," he said. 

The light changed, and Isobel focused back on the road. "I was busy. Anyway, it'd be cheaper to borrow yours."

"You think I'm ever going to take this off? It's mine, and I love it. Thanks for letting me tag along."

"Of course."

True to his word, Michael only took the hat off to drive, sleep, and shower for weeks. Right up until Alex found him as he led the cows home one afternoon. 

Michael froze in the saddle when he saw him leaning with his arms folded on the fence, smiling at him all nostalgically. "Alex?"

"Hey, Guerin," he replied far too casually. "You make a hot cowboy."

Michael jumped down from the mare and strode to the fence, very subtly making sure the man before him wasn't a figment of his imagination. "You're here?" he said skeptically, slowly reaching toward him to give Alex time to back away.

He didn't. "For a few days."

Michael gathered him into a tight hug over the fence, not caring that his hat fell to the ground on impact. "Hi."

"Hi," Alex agreed, hands rising up to Michael's hair but only for a moment. He pulled away to pick up his hat and brush the dust off. 

Michael swallowed the noise that he definitely wouldn't call a whimper when Alex stopped touching him. As he examined the Stetson, Michael vaulted himself over the fence and balanced on top. 

Alex smiled up at him and slotted himself between Michael's legs. "You busy, cowboy?"

"Am now." Alex dropped the hat onto the nearest post for safekeeping and to free up his hands which took their place back in Michael's hair. "With you."

He grinned and pulled Michael's face down to his. 

* * *

"Ah, our saviour is here, y'all," Michael announced to an otherwise empty room. He eyed Max as he opened the door, Michael's detained items in his hand, including his poor Stetson. He grimaced and turned off the camera, then floated his hat right to his hand. 

"Michael," Max said, already exasperated.

"Don't touch my shit. Come over here and I'll turn it back on."

"Are you going to try to hit me again?"

"Are you going to take my stuff again?"

Max sighed, set Michael's things down on a desk, and unlocked the cell door. Michael turned the camera back on and grabbed his wallet, knife, keys, and phone.

"Thank you, officer, bye, officer."

"Michael."

"There's nothing to get all sanctimonious about, Max, save the monologues for your books."

"Did you seriously start a fight over your hat?"

Michael groaned and turned. "It was an assault on my person, Max, what was I supposed to do, not defend myself?"

"You gave Hank a bloody nose. You could have stopped before bodily fluids started flowing."

Michael ran his fingers over the fabric before he put it on. "That all?"

"I guess, just-- Be careful, Michael."

He snorted and left the station.

Three weeks later, Michael woke up in the cell again, which was a bummer, since he'd woken up in Alex's hotel room the day before. At least he still had his hat this time. He covered his face to block out the sunlight and rearranged himself, only to hear Max clear his throat. 

"What?" Michael asked aggressively through his hat.

"What are you doing here?"

Michael blinked at the inky black a moment before he sat up. The cell door was wide open, and his things were still in his pockets. "Sleeping?" he guessed.

"Isobel said she helped you get a trailer. Why are you _ here _ and not there?"

Michael squeezed his brain. Alex had to leave in the middle of the night, so he'd been drinking all day to try to get him off his mind, obviously. "Preemptive citizen's arrest. I was definitely gonna start a fight over my hat again."

He hadn't thought it was possible for him to love Alex more, but he'd put his hat on and teased him and god Michael _ loved _ him. And he was gone. He didn't actually have any fight in him yet, but he didn't want to walk all the way home, plastered as he was. 

"Michael, this isn't a motel."

He stood up and stretched. His head throbbed. "Yeah, I noticed there's no turn-down service."

Max watched him leave, confused.

* * *

"I know you know lab safety, Mikey," Liz said without looking up from her microscope. 

He rolled his eyes. "Are you going to stop calling me that?"

"Are you going to keep your hat away from our cheerful open flames or did you want a different sort of perm?"

Michael scowled and carefully put his black cowboy hat on the back counter. He moved it slightly and flicked a piece of lint from the top. He turned back to see Liz staring at him. "What?"

"I think you care about that hat almost as much as you care about Isobel."

He rolled his eyes. "Almost. Can we get on with the antidote?"

"Can you put your hat on the shelf up there instead? That's where I was going to put the cooked potions."

"Oh my god," he mumbled. He looked up at the shelf, hat held to his chest. "Do you like, dust up there?"

"Definitely not," she said, moving a tray of two dozen test tubes where the Stetson had been. "I'm way too short. I grab a cleaning guy to get it when I'm in late enough, though, so it should be fine."

Michael groaned dramatically and unrolled approximately a meter of paper towel, dampened it, and floated it up to the shelf first. It came down clean, so Michael floated his hat up. 

"Told you," Liz said from her microscope. 

"Whatever," he said, looking over her new notes. 

"How long have you had it?"

"I hatched with it," he said as he scribbled in the margins. 

She hesitated. "You did not."

"No, but talk about cowboys and aliens, right?"

Liz swatted at him with the notebook.

* * *

After his weird alien reveal conversation with Alex, he felt bad. Alex wanted to be friends with him. Michael wanted to be _ everything _ with him. To him. 

He wasn't sure he could do what Alex wanted, and that felt bad. But he would try, for Alex. 

In the meantime, he had to await Isobel's decision. She'd already spent a day deliberating. Michael couldn't watch her pace in front of their pods for long. Noah made him sick.

Michael saw Alex in the Crashdown the day after they shoved Noah in a pod. Alex stood across from him at his booth and said, "Hey, Guerin."

"Hey, Alex," he managed, not at all sounding as choked as he felt. Be friendly, he reminded himself. "You wanna sit?"

He nodded and sunk into the cushy bench, hands folded on the table. "Are you three... okay? I heard from Kyle about Noah."

Well, that name straight up sucker punched his friendliness. Michael tossed his hat and crossed his arms. "Fine I guess. No one is day drinking yet. Isobel's deciding what to do."

Michael stared as Alex absently pushed the hat around. "Can I do anything?"

He glanced up. He hated how sincere Alex looked; it reminded Michael how much he loved him. He returned his gaze to his hat. "Not unless you can convince Isobel to let us get answers out of him before anything else. Thanks, though."

Alex rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Sorry, Guerin." He slid out of the booth, to Michael's private dismay. "I've gotta go meet Kyle, but take care, all right?"

"Sure," he said, but if he was leaving him for Kyle, he was pretty sure it was time to start drinking. Even if it wasn't quite noon yet. He left the Crashdown to buy a couple of six-packs. 

* * *

"Guerin, you can't put your hat on the bar any more," Maria said, moving to pluck it from where he put it down, but he snatched it before she could touch it and dropped it on his lap. "There's a hat rack by the door now for a reason."

He had ignored it. "DeLuca, this hat is worth more than my truck. There's no way I'm leaving it unattended. Have you considered hiring a coat check?"

She frowned at him. "Not gonna happen. Listen, it's a health code thing. Quit putting your hat on the bar. Also, I'm pretty sure you'd have to pay someone to take your truck."

"Rude," he grumbled. "Can I put it on the next seat?"

"What did I tell you about taking up multiple stools, Guerin?

He squinted as if he was having a hard time remembering. "Uhh... Don't?"

"That's right." She set a beer in front of him, but he only scratched at the bandanna wrapped around his hand.

"I'm seriously considering taking my business elsewhere, DeLuca."

She smiled at him, sarcasm thick on her teeth. "Aw, what a shame that'd be."

He sniffed. "You'd miss me. Don't lie."

"Nah. You're not going, anyway. Other people enforce their lifetime bans, you know." She started to turn, but twirled back just as he picked up his hat to put back on the counter. "Do I need to turn the hose on you?"

Michael sighed and put the black Stetson on his head, tipped back. "I'm going to start leaving it in the truck. You're destroying my aesthetic, DeLuca."

"Your very manicured aesthetic. Oh no. I'll light some candles in mourning." She moved down the bar, and he only grinned at his reflection.

* * *

Michael sat up on the table only to give a pained shout and grab his head.

"What happened?"

"Guerin, let me see."

"No!" Michael rolled away from Kyle, making himself as small as possible, hat pressed tightly to his head. 

"Guerin," Alex said gently, pulling his hands from his head. "What's hurting you? Let us see so we can help. Please."

"No, no," he said, and as Kyle moved in again, he snapped, "Don't touch me!"

"Okay, we won't touch you," Alex said, each of them backing away cautiously. "Did you get hit by something?"

Michael shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "Ghosts."

Kyle and Alex exchanged a look, and Kyle jerked his head at their friend on the table. Alex grimaced; he'd _ just _ told them not to touch him. Kyle nodded at him more insistently, so Alex stepped forward, hands held out inoffensively. "What do you mean, Guerin? Are you being possessed? Can I see?"

Alex touched his shoulder lightly, and Michael instantly curled into him. "Nothing to see. Only ghosts."

He sighed and, holding Michael one-handed, lifted his hat off carefully with the other. His hair was sweat damp and he was shaking, but he appeared physically unharmed. 

"Is it a psychic thing?" Kyle suggested.

Michael nodded into Alex's neck. "Ghosts in the room."

"Like, actual ghosts?" he asked. He ran his hand down Michael's back in the hopes of soothing him, and he did calm down a little. 

"Echoes. Worse than Caulfield. I can feel them. I can--" He pulled away suddenly and hurried from the room, leaving his hat in Alex's hand.

They followed quickly. 

* * *

"Sure, I'll do karaoke -- if Guerin lends me his hat."

Surprised noises broke out around their table. 

"No way, he never lets anyone touch it."

"Come on, Alex, just do it, you're asking the impossible."

But Michael ended their chatter when he merely transferred the Stetson to Alex's head with a smile. "Looks good on you."

The others gaped at him. Alex only winked and headed up to the stage. 

"Mikey, you just gave Alex your hat," Liz said incredulously.

"No shit, Ortecho," Michael retorted, eyes trained on his boyfriend as he scrolled through the music list.

"But you don't let _ anyone _ touch that thing," Isobel said.

He shrugged. "Alex isn't just anyone."

"You tried to punch me when I tried to take it," Max said. 

Michael threw a peanut at him without turning from the stage. "Blue lives don't matter."

"You would have burned my lab down over it!"

"I would have burned your lab down over loads of things, Ortecho, and in the end, someone else beat me to it, so--"

"You said you'd rather stop coming here than leave it on the hat rack," Maria said. 

He rolled his eyes. "I did not say that. I said I'd rather leave it safely locked in my car where it wouldn't be in danger. Then you made fun of me and _ then _ I said I'd take my business elsewhere."

"You literally wouldn't let me take it off you to make sure you didn't have a head wound," Kyle pointed out.

"Well, that's because I hate you," Michael lied nonchalantly. Alex waved at him, and the first bars of Old Town Road played, making Michael positively giggle. "Now shut up so I can listen to my boyfriend sing my anthem."

Another round of surprised noises erupted at "boyfriend," but Michael was too busy yelling along to address them.

Upon his triumphant return, Michael pulled Alex onto his lap and was kissed thoroughly for his troubles.


End file.
